


Nondescript Swaying Motions To The Music

by cappedbicuspid



Series: Good Omens Shorts [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 06:43:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19941898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cappedbicuspid/pseuds/cappedbicuspid
Summary: It isn't dancing, it can't be dancing.





	Nondescript Swaying Motions To The Music

It isn't dancing. Crowley isn't sure what to call it, but it's not dancing. See, Crowley doesn't dance. Aziraphale doesn't waltz. So, it can't be dancing. 

It's Aziraphale tucked up against him, swaying gently. That's all. Moving to some old, classical tune played by a record player that would be the envy of any antique collector, should he manage to get into the shop during open hours. 

Just like the creases of a letter, Aziraphale unfolded Crowley and lit him up under the light of his desk lamp and to a tune he couldn't identify. Every gentle movement, every step left and around a stack of books was a pen stroke, something much more graceful than Crowley could ever hope to be. A work of art, every word written or read. 

The heavenly fire wrapped up in his angel opened up all of Crowley's rough edges and illuminated every cryptically dark crevice in his facade. That icy well where Her Love used to be was poured full of light again, every time Aziraphale flashed him that knowing little smile because he did something that wasn't awful. It made him whole, it made him good, and it was everything Crowley had ever wanted, even before he knew that he wanted it. 

And neither of them said a word, while they moved in what couldn't be a dance, because Crowley didn't dance and Aziraphale couldn't waltz. Neither of them knew what it was, save that it was swaying to a tune that Aziraphale knew well. 

Aziraphale didn't speak because the silence was comfortable. It was cozy and loving. There was nothing he could have said to do it justice. Crowley, because there weren't mortal words to convey what he was feeling. The warmth was mutual, though. It was an understanding that required nothing, the record player did the speaking. 

It spoke the warmth that Crowley felt in such a way that he didn't have to. It gave him something to move to, with Aziraphale tucked up against his chest in such a delicate set of footsteps around the back room that a word might shatter the second of Heaven that Aziraphale was giving him. It let him dance in such a way that wasn't dancing, and most importantly, it gave him a chance to hold his angel and be whole again.

**Author's Note:**

> It's dancing. Aziraphale knows it.


End file.
